The Rain Pounds On April 2nd
by FanGirlFreak16
Summary: April 2nd is a day we'll never forget. Now, at the year 2003, it's been five years since. And every April 2nd, it rains hard all day. Probably in memory of what happened. Want to know what I'm talking about? Read and find out. But I must tell you, after five years of listening to the rain pound outside on the same exact day, things don't get any easier to handle.
We watched from the other side of the room as our baby brother coughed harshly. He had been sick like this for two weeks, and we were starting to lose hope. We knew he was fatally ill, but he wasn't contagious. We had figured that out last week.

We became wide eyed as blood began to dribble down his chin. He had become so weak over the course of two weeks. He no longer laughed, nor read comic books. He could barely move with how weak he was. At times, he could barely open his eyes. We didn't know what he had. Not Don, nor Father.

It was terrifying!

Father moved past us and walked over to our sick brother. He placed a finger against Mikey's wrist and felt the pattern of his heart beat. His eyes narrowed, but they held a soft look. Father had done everything he could to get Mikey the medicine he needed, but it proved to be difficult.

"Father, how is he?" I asked, fear cradling my voice as if it were its child.

Father sighed. "Not well, Raphael. I believe he is getting worse." We heard a soft groan from Mikey, and we all darted our glance towards him. He made noises quite frequently, but it always made us jump when he uttered a sound.

"Father, will he ever get better?" For once, our resident genius didn't know what was going on, which was unsettling. He knew just about everything, so hearing him say, 'I don't know,' always comes as quite a shock to us.

"I don't know, Donatello. Michelangelo is very sick." He glanced at our now sleeping brother. His soft snores could be heard by us from the other side of the room. He was drenched in sweat and almost never wanted to be alone. We didn't mind, though. We wanted to spend as much time with him as possible, fearing the day we watched his chest fall and never rise.

"Father, how do you think Mikey got so sick?" Leo asked innocently. We were only ten with no access to the topside world. We had such innocence.

Father sighed. "It could be because the sewers are unsanitary, and you all are four growing boys who need to play outside, and live in a clean environment. But the world isn't fair like that, my sons."

I growled lightly as I went to hold Mikey's hand. "Why can't it be fair?! We live, and breathe, and talk, and love just like humans do! Why should we live in hiding?! Just because of our appearances?! Because of that, Mikey's dying! Doesn't the world care?!" I felt a squeeze against my hand. I looked down at Mikey in shock and concern. His eyes were barely opened.

"P-Please don't…..y-y-yell, Raphie. I-It…..hurts my…e-e-ears." Mikey stuttered through gasping breaths.

My expression softened, and I immediately felt sorry. I pressed my lips against his forehead. "I'm sorry, Mikey. I didn't mean to hurt ya."

His eyes were glassy with pain filled tears. We all knew he was suffering. We were suffering just seeing him like this. It wasn't like him to not be smiling. Instead, his lips were formed I a frown of pain. It twisted our hearts in pain. We knew he was dying, but we didn't know how to fix him.

"R-Raphie…..I'm s-s-scared." Mikey cried through shivers of pain.

I sighed and shifted Mikey gently, so I was cradling him in my arms. "Don't be, Mikey. All of this will be over soon, one way or another." He was too innocent to understand that I meant he'd either heal or die. And I'm glad he was.

He coughed harshly. I was quick to support him and rub his shell. We all watched in horror and sadness as a mixture of mucus and blood flew from his moth. He groaned as tears flowed down his cheeks. I could tell he was in pain. We all could. And it pained us just as much. If not more.

"Leo, can you go get your brother's medicine?" Father asked politely.

Leo bowed. "Hai, Father." Leo left the room in search of Mikey's non reactant medicine.

Mikey shook his head. "No…..more…m-m-medicine. It…..d-d-d-doesn't do…..a-a-anything…anyways." He panted out.

I looked at him sadly and wiped a bead of sweat away from his forehead. He wasn't stupid. He knew that the medicine wasn't working. And the medicine didn't taste good either. "Mikey, you have to take it. If you take it, you may have a chance at healing."

Mikey groaned in exasperation. Two weeks. That's how long he had been sick. Two weeks. And it was the worst two weeks of our lives. Leo came back, the clear, cherry tasting bottled medicine in hand. "I got it, Father!"

Splinter took the bottled medicine and the medicine cup that Leo had been holding. "Thank you, my son," Splinter took the medicine and began to pour 20 milliliters into the cup. He walked over to Mikey, and took Mikey into his own arms, taking him out of mine. "Alright, Michelangelo, please take this."

Mikey shook his head, tears forming in his eyes. "D-Daddy…..i…..it's yucky." He said childishly. Yeah, you know how people act different when they're sick? Mikey acts like a child. More so than usual.

Splinter sighed. "I know, Michelangelo, but if you took it, it would make all of us feel much more relieved." He was lying. We never felt relieved when he did or did not take his medicine. We were just always on edge. We were terrified that one day we'd wake up to Father crying, and a brother waiting to be buried.

Mikey allowed more tears to fall from his eyes. The medicine almost made him vomit every time he took it. It was just downright disgusting. "D-Do…I…..h-have to?" Mikey asked feebly.

Splinter sighed. "You do not have to, my son, but I would prefer it if you did."

Mikey took in a shaky breath before he nodded. "O-Ok…..I…..I'll do it." Mikey stuttered in what sounded like utter defeat.

Splinter smiled sympathetically. He supported Mikey upward, and allowed Mikey to take the medicine cup. Mikey pinched his nose and tipped the medicine back only to gag at the vulgar taste. I shot him a sympathetic look. "Swallow it, Mikey." I urged.

Shaking, Mikey swallowed the foul liquid. He smiled painfully when the liquid was out of his mouth and in his system. We all smiled and praised him for it. We knew the liquid tasted terrible, and that he hated it, but he still did it.

Splinter looked to a clock on the wall and sighed. "It is time for bed, my sons." We all groaned in protest, except for Mikey, and Splinter couldn't help but chuckle.

"Father, do we have to?" Donnie asked innocently.

Father chuckled. "Yes, you have to, Donatello. All of you." I looked to Mikey, sighed, kissed his head, and stood to leave. But just as I moved to leave a hand gripped my wrist.

My head snapped around in surprise to find Mikey gripping my wrist. "F-Father…..c-c-c-can…..Raphie s-stay?"

Splinter looked at Mikey sympathetically. "Yes, he may," I smiled gently at Mikey as I stayed seated on his bed. Splinter looked to Leo and Donnie. "Go to your rooms, I'll be there in a few minutes."

The two nodded and ran off to Leo and my shared room, and Donnie would spend the night in my bed. We've allowed Mikey to have the room to his self so he could heal faster.

I lied next to Mikey and wrapped my arms around him, allowing him to snuggle close to me. Splinter covered us up and kissed our foreheads. "Goodnight, my sons. I love you both, very much." And with that he turned out the lights and closed the door.

I waited for Mikey to close his eyes, but he never did. "Something wrong, Mike?"

He took in a shaky breath. "A-Am I…..d-d-dying…..Raphie?"

My breath hitched and I held him closer to my chest. My eyes clenched in pain. "Mikey, I…I won't let you die. No matter the odds against you. You will live."

"I mean….f-f-for real…..R-Raphie." Mikey tried again.

I sighed. "Honestly, Mikey?" He nodded at me. I sighed again and placed my chin on top of Mikey's head. "Yeah, Mikey, you're dying. But you'll get better. You have to. You're our light, Mikey. We couldn't live without you."

He winced slightly. "D-D-Don't say that…..R-R-Raphie. I-If I d-d-d-die…..you guys will k-k-keep…..l-l-living. P-P-Promise me th-th-that." Mikey pleaded.

I kissed his forehead. "You're not going to die, Mikey. I promise. I won't let you."

Mikey snuggled into my side, and buried his face in the crook of my neck. He felt so warm. So hot. Another sign that he was still terribly sick. "I'm….s-scared….R-R-R-R…..aph…..ie."

He was so weak. So sick. So pained. I kissed his head. "I know. I am, too."

His breathing grew labored, and I knew what was going to happen next. It's all he had been doing for two weeks. I grabbed the bucket next to his bed and handed it to him. I rubbed circles on his shell as he heaved. I watched as vomit flew from his mouth. His face was twisted in pain, and he clenched his stomach tightly.

I had a sad look on my face as he groaned. The vomiting stopped, and I was glad it did. He fell back into his pillows in exhaustion. I placed the bucket back down on the floor, and lied down next to a panting Michelangelo. I stroked his sweaty forehead, and shushed in his ear as he sobbed.

"R-R-Raphie….i-it….hurts." Mikey sobbed into my chest.

I sighed and kissed his forehead again. "I know, Mikey." I looked back into the bucket, looking to see what had been added, considering he had barely been able to eat anything at all. I sighed when I saw splotches of blood inside. It hadn't exactly been a surprise. Blood came up a lot now when he vomited and even coughed.

Slowly, I watched as Mikey fell asleep. I watched the clock as he did so. It took thirty minutes for him to fall asleep. I held him close to my chest, afraid that if I let go he'd disappear, and I'd never see him again. Never hear his laugh. See his smile. Listen to him ramble on about a new comic book or video game. Never hold him again.

I sighed.

I needed to clear my head of these terrible thoughts. Though it was hard, I eventually fell asleep, an hour after Mikey had fallen asleep.

I woke up four hours later to hear Mikey having a harsh coughing fit. I sat him up gently and rubbed his shell. "Sh, Mikey. It's ok. Let it out."

Tears trailed down his face. His hand now dripped with blood. I grabbed a nearby tissue and wiped his hand and mouth clean. He shook as if he were cold, and I lied him back down on his bed and covered him up. I placed a hand against his forehead and then my other hand against my own. He was way warmer than I was. I sighed as I moved out of the bed, only to hear him whine in protest. I smiled sadly. "Don't worry, Mike. I'll be back. I promise."

His whines slowly died down, and I left his room out to the hallway. I walked down to the bathroom, where I grabbed a cloth and a bowl that we kept in there. I filled the bowl with cold water and placed the cloth in it. I walked back down the hallway and back into Mikey's room, bowl in hand.

I placed the bowl down on Mikey's nightstand and took out the cloth. I placed the cold cloth on his forehead and got the reaction I had suspected. He began whining in protest and tried to push the cloth away from his head. I shook my head and forced the cloth to stay on his forehead.

"Mikey, I need to get your temperature down. It's too high."

He whined softly. "I-I…..It's cold…R-R-Raphie."

I sighed and stroked his hand. "I know it is, bud, but you need to have it on. It will help bring your fever down."

Mikey slowly and painfully cracked his baby blue eyes open. I gasped. His eyes were dull. They were glassy. It looked like the light in them were going out.

Almost as if he hadn't much time to live.

Mikey curled into my side. His skin was so pale, it almost looked like he wasn't green at all. I could feel his tears hitting my side. He was in so much pain.

"T-T-Tell me…..th-th-the…..s-story."

I was taken aback. "What?"

"T-Tell me the…..s-s-story. Of h-how we came to…to be. P-P-Please." Mikey coughed out. My eyes softened.

"Y-Yeah. I can tell ya." He smiled painfully. He snuggled into my side and awaited the story.

I sighed. "In 1988 a teenaged boy bought four baby turtles. While waiting for a walking light to turn green, a blind man had already begun to walk. Since he was blind, he couldn't see the truck that was about to hit him. A man nearby had seen this and ran towards the man, bumping our owner in the process. Our container fell into some water that was going into the sewer and we were swept away into the sewer. The truck that had almost hit that man swerved, and out came a canister filled with mutagenic ooze. The ooze fell on top of us and a nearby rat. Slowly, we all began to grow in size and intellect. Soon we grew into four baby humanoid turtles, and our father, an adult humanoid rat. Since his master had been a Ninjutsu Master, Father had thought it necessary to teach us in the Ninjutsu art when we grew older. When we turned five years old, Father began to train us. We all began with wooden bokkens, and build up to our real weapons. The oldest of us was named Leonardo, the second oldest, Raphael, the third oldest, Donatello, and the youngest, Michelangelo. Leonardo soon became the leader, and definitely a responsible, great elder brother. Raphael became the protector, and hothead of the family. Donatello was a natural born genius, and became a technician, and doctor of the family. Now Michelangelo, gosh, where do I begin? Michelangelo is the most important person in this family. Michelangelo is our light. The reason we laugh. He's always trying to make sure we're happy. He wants us to be happy, and laugh, and live life to its fullest. If he goes down," I sighed and kissed his forehead, "we all go down. And we love him, so very much."

Mikey kept his head tucked under my chin. "I…..l-love you…..g-guys….too." A minute after he said that, I could hear his soft snores in my ear.

I sighed and kissed his hand. "And we love you, too, bro. More than you could ever know."

We all watched as Mikey's breaths sped up. We couldn't do anything to help him. Three weeks now. I held his right hand, Donnie his left, Leo stroked Mikey's forehead, and Father stroked his left arm. At this point, we prepared for his death at any time. It almost seemed inevitable.

"C'mon, Mikey. You can beat this." Leo said through his tears. Mikey's breathing had become irregular a lot now.

"Please, Mikey. You're my only baby brother. Please, fight. Please." Donnie sobbed. Donnie always was the most emotional out of us all. His chocolate brown eyes were filled to the brim with tears.

My own amber eyes held tears of their own, but I didn't dare to let a single one fall. "C'mon, Mikey. You got this. Show this illness all that you have."

Mikey's dull baby blue eyes barely opened. "F-Father…I-I can't…..d-do this." Mikey wheezed out.

Splinter sighed and placed his hand on Mikey's arm. We all knew that Mikey may not be able to fight. He had only gotten worse throughout the course of three weeks. Mikey coughed again, blood and mucus coming out of his mouth. We all wished that he could fight this, but we all knew that he would not survive.

And the day that week four hit, our theories proved to be correct. It was another night Mikey had asked me to stay with him. It was a stormy, thunderous night. Mikey had been having sleeping trouble, and had been lucky to get three hours of sleep in.

He had awoken with a rough coughing fit, blood still flying from his mouth. I did the usual, clean up the blood, cold rag, and bucket for his vomit, but this time had been different. He was so weak. His breathing was so fast. It was almost like he couldn't get air in. His breathing was so strangled. At this point I had enough brains to not go back to sleep. But I hadn't enough brains to go get the rest of the family.

I sat in a chair by Mikey. He groaned and grunted through strangled breaths. I held his hand tightly. "C'mon, baby bro. Don't make this your last night here on Earth."

He yelled quietly in pain from time to time. His pale baby blue eyes were glossy and filled with pain. My expression was twisted in pain as I watched him suffer. He clenched his eyes shut tightly as the thunder rolled right over his pained yells, so I could barely hear his yells, let alone the rest of the lair.

"R-Raphie…..I…..I can't do…..i-i-it." Mikey wailed to me.

Have you ever heard your little brother or sister tell you that they can no longer fight the illness that was threatening to take them away? If not, I wouldn't recommend it. It's heart breaking.

I dabbed his forehead with the cold rag, wiping away a few sweat beads. We put him in cold baths nearly every night now before bedtime. Not that they ever did anything. Just like the medicines, teas, and home remedies that Father gave him. "I know you can, Mikey. You're very strong, physically, and mentally. Just, uh, just give it a little more back bone?" I said, unsure of myself.

His breathing shallowed, but was still just as quick. "I-I'm trying!"

I gulped. I knew he hadn't much energy left. I leaned my head against his hand. His breathing was still irregular. I hadn't expected it to regulate either. His breathing was still rapid. "Raphie…I can't…..d-d-do…..this."

I sighed and kissed his hand. "If you truly can't, we will never forget you. I promise, Mikey."

He smiled up at me, but it wasn't like before he had gotten sick. This was filled with pain and….relief? "I'm h-h-h-h-holding…..y-y-y-y-you guys…t-t-to that." He began to cough harshly once more, and his grip against my hand faltered.

"Mikey?" I asked helplessly.

"I l-l-love…..you g-g-guys." He coughed out. His eyes fell to only a quarter of the way open.

I felt a few tears fall from my eyes. "We love you, too, Michelangelo, more than you could ever know."

And all too quickly his eyes fell. His skin paled dangerously. His grip was no longer.

His chest fell and never rose.

My eyes widened and tears fell faster against my will. "M-Mikey?" I asked helplessly. I shook him gently. "Mikey, this isn't funny anymore. C'mon, wake up!" But he didn't. His eyes never did open again. I shook him harder. "Mikey, please, bro, I'm beggin' ya! Please, just wake up!"

But no matter how hard I shook him, his breathing never started up again. I was too young to give him CPR. We hadn't learned it at the time. I shook him harder and harder, but to no avail. "Mikey, Mikey, please, wake up! Mikey! Michelangelo!" I cried in angst. I fell to my knees next to his bed and roared like a dragon, mourning the loss of my brother. But my roar was drowned out by the roaring of the thunder.

"Michelangelo!"

Now five years later, April 2nd, 2003, we honor our fallen brother. He had been taken too young. At just the mere age of ten. His fun loving ways will never be forgotten by us. They just left too big of an impact to forget.

Now the three of us are fifteen, and feel rather lost without our fun loving brother. I will never forget the day my baby brother took his final breath, and the morning that my brothers and father found me lie there, sobbing over my baby brother's dead body.

I hadn't gotten a wink of sleep the night that he had died. But did you really expect me to?

Father had walked into the room, only to find me sobbing over Michelangelo's motionless body, eyes bloodshot. He hadn't seen Mikey not breathing, I suppose because he asked, "What's wrong, Raphael?"

I looked at him with my amber eyes bloodshot. "He's g-gone, Father."

His eyes grew solemn. "When was this, Raphael?"

I sobbed gently. "L-L-Last night at 4:02am."

Splinter sighed and came over to hug me. "Let it out my son." He told me.

I took note on how he didn't say 'Everything's ok,'. "F-Father? Will we ever be ok again?" I asked shakily.

He took in his own shaky breath. "I'm afraid not, my son. We will move on, but we will never forget."

I hadn't expected to. Needless to say when my brothers found out, our tears were an endless flowing river, trying to reach our baby brother all the way in Heaven, but only being so far short.

Donnie had fallen to his knees. "Mikey!" He had screamed in anguish and regret. Regret of what? I guess I'll never know.

Leo's eyes had filled with sorrow. Sorrow so great it could tear apart anyone or anything who stepped within its visual range. "But he was so young."

Splinter looked at us, his eyes filled with tears of his own. He gripped us all in a tight hug, none of us fighting it. "He was taken at a young age, my sons. Way too young than I would ever like to imagine. But this was his fate, I suppose. To have fallen so ill."

I looked up to Father. "Father, do you know what was wrong with him?"

He sighed and looked down to all three of us. "After examining him I finally did find what had been wrong. How none of us saw it will forever be a mystery to me. Sons, I found a strange bump on Michelangelo's arm. It wasn't a bump from sparring or anything, but it was a sign from a very fatal and incurable disease. Donatello, I believe you and other scientists know the name as cancer."

Donnie's eyes widened. "F-Father, y-y-you're say M-Mikey had…..c-c-c-cancer?"

Splinter nodded sadly. "I'm afraid so."

Donnie shook his head and backed away from the hug, scratching his head, and his eyes wide in denial and puzzlement. "B-B-B-But that mean's he would have d-d-died regardless."

Splinter nodded. "I know, my son."

Donnie held his stomach. "I feel sick."

Splinter sighed and pulled Donnie back into the hug. "You are in shock, my son."

I looked into Splinter's eyes. "Father," I began, "Mikey made it to Heaven, right?"

Splinter's eyes filled with tears, and I watched as a few fell from his eyes. "There is no doubt in my mind that he did, Raphael."

Now, every April 2nd, I rewrite his story and tell it to the family. They never did get to hear his last words like I did. They never got to sit next to him as he died like I did. It's just in respect of his very short life. Why he was taken at such a young age will forever be a mystery to me. He was way too young in my opinion.

When April and Casey came into our lives, I made it my job to tell them the story of our fallen brother. I made it my mission to make them feel like they've known him their entire lives. I've told stories, showed pictures, and done pretty much everything I can to make sure they know what he was like.

There's not a day that goes by that we don't think about him. There's no doubt in any of our minds that he made it to Heaven. And now that it's April 2nd, 2003, I've written this story again, to tell about our fallen brother. An orange rose is always placed by his photo in the dojo at this time. His name will never be forgotten, nor will his smile, his laugh. And a reminder of him is his mask that we keep hung in the dojo with his nunchaku.

 **Did I make ANY of you cry? I hope so. This was another one-shot that I thought of during Social Studies! Thank you history, you've never failed me! Did you like it, love it, hate it? Let me know. Your opinion matters. :)**


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